


In the New World

by AyuOhseki



Category: GUNxSWORD
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyuOhseki/pseuds/AyuOhseki
Summary: To survive the plan's failure means to live on in a world where their dreams have been dashed. Even so, they still have each other. Will that be good enough?





	In the New World

“ _Hmph. You've got something to live for after all, don't you? Live to the end of your days. That's how you can atone--_ ”

 

The crash of rubble landing but inches from Fasalina cut off the buzz of that woman's words, which she would have ignored save that they flew straight into her ears and stung her heart. Before her, Michael lay bleeding and injured. The injury was clearly not fatal, but he'd lost enough blood to collapse after coming to her rescue.

Fasalina stared at the massive chunk of stone. It teetered over them, embracing the two in its shadow. The facility's rumbling was ongoing; it was a miracle that it had missed the two of them at all, and she felt in her shredded heart that if they stayed, it would fall over and crush them.

“Fasalina...” Michael gasped, sweat beading his pale face. “Please, run... Get to safety...”

Fasalina stared back down at him. He'd come for her, pointed a gun at that woman for her, even though he himself was hurt. Even though the facility was falling apart.

It would, she thought, be lovely to die together, here, in each others's arms, in the wake of their Comrade's death.

The concrete block leering over them began to tilt.

 

“ _The beach is a lovely spot for a date._ ”

 

“Michael,” Fasalina murmured, stroking his face.

His eyelashes fluttered open, and his eyes sought her own. She smiled at him, true and genuine; she was not a medic, but she'd been unable to meet up with the other fleeing members of their organization, so she'd had to bind his injured arm on her own.

“Fasalina,” he whispered, and attempted to sit up. He winced in the trying, and she laid gentle hands on him and helped him up the rest of the way. He accepted her help and relaxed against her, and she listened to his breathing before they both looked out towards the night ocean.

“...I'm sorry I passed out on you,” he said. “It must have been difficult to get both of us out of there when you were also hurt.”

“Don't worry about it,” she reassured him, stroking his hair. “I couldn't bear to let you die.”

He leaned back to show her his smile. It was sweet and kind, like the rest of him, and like all good things in her life, it soon faded.

“...We failed our Comrade,” he said, low but with emotion.

Fasalina didn't respond. Even without their Comrade to link their hearts, she knew precisely how he felt.

“I'm so sorry,” he added, on the verge of weeping. “If only I'd been stronger, faster, smarter, more experienced, less savage and violent--”

She let him spill his regrets along with his tears. It was somehow endearing, even it was also somehow lonely. She stroked his hair and held his body and reassured him it was all right, it wasn't his fault, they'd done the best they could.

When Michael had calmed down, he looked up at her. “Fasalina,” he murmured. “Are you all right? You knew our Comrade far longer than I did--I can't imagine how much pain you must be in...”

She hesitated. Tears stinging at her own eyes, she smiled. “I asked that woman to kill me. How cruel of her to refuse...”

Michael flinched away from her as if he'd been slapped. “The one who was threatening you when I showed up? You _wanted_ her to attack you?”

“Yes,” she replied, for it was the truth. And, because it was also the truth, she added, “Up until I saw your face.”

Michael stared at her. Even in the darkness of the late night, she could see his cheeks turn color. He ducked his head down, then looked back out towards the ocean. “Ah... by the way,” he added, and it was so cute how shy he'd suddenly become, “why are we here?”

She remembered her last face-to-face conversation with her Comrade. It had been a day or three at best. It felt like years, decades, centuries ago.

“I've been told,” she murmured, “that the beach is a lovely spot for a date.”

Michael's eyes widened as he burned under the starlight.

 

“ _Members of the organization should use their own judgment going forward..._ ”

 

It took some time before they ran into anyone else from the organization. That was fine. Walking hand-in-hand down the beach, time had no meaning. The rhythm of the tide soothed her soul, washed away some of the anguish of her dead dream. They had failed to protect their Comrade, failed to protect his dream, but they had failed together. She took some comfort in that, and in the warmth of his hand.

The researchers--Fasalina recognized them from the launch room--had a pair of puppies with them. Fasalina recognized them, too; they were the children of her Comrade's hound. The mother, the researchers explained, had seen her pups off to the elevator, but there hadn't been room for her, so she'd stayed behind.

“I envy her,” she lamented.

Michael glanced at her, expression troubled; then he looked back at the researchers. “How are the others?”

They'd scattered, they explained. Their Comrade had declared that they would simply start over from scratch, but with him dead, that simply wasn't possible anymore. Despite this, there was hope in their eyes as they looked at the two of them. As members of the Original 7, they were the last remaining leaders of the old, unnamed organization. Fasalina had not the heart to tell them that she had no will to carry out their Comrade's dream without him. No one could possibly take his place, anyway.

Michael knelt down and offered a hand to the pair of puppies, who barked and crowded close to sniff and nuzzle him. “What about these pups? Were you planning on keeping them?”

The response was lukewarm. The researchers didn't know what to do with them, but they could hardly bear to abandon them, so what other choice did they have?

This struck Fasalina as terribly sad. She wondered if she had been like one of those abandoned puppies to her Comrade when he'd found her: useless, but too pitiable to ignore. She'd given her everything to supporting his dream, but... in the end, she'd stayed useless. The way she was now was little different from the days before she met her Comrade, when she spread her legs at her pimp's command for the dubious benefit of keeping a bed and a hot meal for one more night. Those days no longer troubled her, but... she'd wanted to reach out for something nobler than mere survival.

Running her fingers through the part of her hair that woman had sliced, she wondered if Michael would be disgusted if he knew. Men so often were, all while ogling her breasts and pawing at her buttocks. It had never occurred to her before to wonder this, let alone consider sharing her past, but now that the future had crumbled to dust, it was all she had left.

“Fasalina,” Michael said, looking up at her, breaking her free from her thoughts. “Do you like dogs?”

 

“ _Do you know what happens to a man when his dream is taken from him?_ ”

 

Fasalina stroked the puppy's fur as it slept on her lap. The ocean lapped at the shore several yards from the porch of the tiny shanty they'd made their living place, close to the docks of Harbor Parade. It was a lively town, and people were happy here. That brought her some comfort. In the end, though, it was empty, as were most things now that her Comrade was dead and his dream dashed. Fasalina knew of the mob presence in this town--men who wouldn't hesitate to kill their own children if they stepped out of line, men who stole whatever they desired either openly or under the table. She tickled the puppy's chin, and it made a sound like _worfle_ in its sleep. If only the plan had succeeded...

“If only the plan had succeeded,” Michael lamented quietly, sitting down on the porch steps next to her. He tossed a ball to the other puppy, but its energy was flagging; soon it, too, would take a nap in his lap as its sibling now did on Fasalina's. “But there's nothing we can do about that now. It's best not to regret what can't be changed, right?”

“Our Comrade would say so, yes,” Fasalina agreed. “We missed our chance to die with him.”

Michael slid closer to her. She could nearly feel the warmth of his skin. The puppy toddled back with the ball, nearly falling over from tiredness, and he smiled warmly and picked it up. It was snoozing by the time he rested it on his knee.

“If we're going to live on,” he said, “we'll have to eke out a peaceful living as best we can. Even if we can't change everyone's minds, we can at least model the right behavior.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“I don't know. I think... the people of this world might be too willful. But I would rather lead a peaceful life than a violent one. I think our Comrade would want this for us, too.”

Fasalina didn't reply. Michael fell silent. Together, they watched the ocean roar as it lapped at the beach. A crab slowly skittered by.

“Michael,” she said at length, “there's something I've been thinking about lately...”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember that man who piloted the underground Armor?”

Michael scowled. “The one who delayed the Birthday Plan long enough for Van to stop it? Yes. Too well.”

“When I fought him, he asked me what I thought happened to a man whose dream has been destroyed. If it was so wrong for a man to dream of living quietly with the woman he loves.”

Michael's expression softened into something sad and bittersweet. “Fasalina...”

“The dream we dreamed with our Comrade destroyed many other dreams. I sincerely believed that it was for the best, that other dreams weren't necessary. Yet now that dream is dead.” She paused. Her expression, her tone, her gaze, all remained even as the sea beyond the horizon, but something in her eyes crashed like the tide. “Is it wrong to dream a new dream, one all our own, when our Comrade wanted to share his dream with so many people? Do we have a right to seek our own happiness?”

“...I don't know,” he admitted. “So many of us shared his dream, but there were so many others who opposed it with everything they had, even after we explained it to them so carefully. I still believe what we were trying to do was right, but...” He bowed his head. “In pursuing it, I almost did something unforgivable.”

Fasalina gazed at him. She had her guesses about what he might mean. Once they had made it safely out of the collapsing base, he'd eventually explained to her how he'd gotten that bullet wound. She turned her gaze to the puppy snoring in her lap.

“Even two people who love each other dearly can eventually turn on one another,” she said quietly. “That's the way this sinful world works.”

Michael didn't answer. She wondered if she'd hurt him. Somehow, that was deeply upsetting.

But eventually, he murmured, “That's true. There's no guarantee that our feelings won't change... that circumstances won't pit us against each other... that nothing will come between us. But if we have to rely on our own judgment going forward--” He reached over to rest his hand on hers and gave her a level gaze. “Then I want to trust that our feelings won't change so easily.”

She met his green eyes.

“Michael,” she said, hand twitching under his, “I used to work as a prostitute.”

His eyelids flew wide. “Huh?”

“I grew up with no parents and no home, after all,” she continued, matter-of-fact. “All I had was myself and, as I grew older, my beauty. Once I'd developed that, there was no limit of men who were willing to pay me for a taste.”

He continued to gawk at her. Fasalina wasn't ashamed of her past, but... ah. Men so often judged a woman by how many had known her body. Only her Comrade hadn't been like that... but until now, she hadn't given Michael the chance to prove himself one way or another.

“That was how _he_ found me,” she continued. “Trussed up in a whorehouse with nothing to live for, my heart locked away. He gave me purpose. And now that purpose is gone.”

“F-Fasalina...” Michael leaned away, fingertips slipping from the back of her hand, eyes wavering with uncertainty. “Is that... Is that something you want to do again?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation, “never.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, lips pursed. “...What _do_ you want to do?”

“I...” Her heart ached. Her soul burned. Mindful of the pup on her lap, she scooted herself closer and leaned on him. “I don't know, exactly. But I know if I must live on, I want to be with you.”

Gently, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and rested his forehead on hers. “I feel the same way. So I don't care about your past. The only thing that matters to me is our present and future.”

Fasalina pulled away a bit, just enough to gaze into his face. He reciprocated, and on his lips and in his eyes was the most tender of smiles.

“Still... thank you for telling me,” he added. “It means more than I can say that you trusted me.”

“Michael...” For the first time in she wasn't sure how long, Fasalina smiled from the bottom of her heart. “Thank you for listening.”

His eyelashes fluttered half-shut, and he tilted his head to one side. Fasalina leaned in, letting her eyes lid too. Together, they spun dreams of a new world with their lips tenderly clasped.

 

“ _I'll meet you in the new world._ ”


End file.
